Chapter 69
Chapter 69
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: While Awaiting the Deathbed
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The capital. Grantera.
This place, always bustling with activity, had suddenly fallen silent. People had lost their smiles, the markets were deserted, and those wandering the night streets drunk had greatly diminished. Even the patrons of the red-light district had stopped coming.
It was no longer a secret that His Imperial Majesty the Emperor was on the verge of death—anyone who needed to know already did, and even those who didn't had heard the rumors. The atmosphere throughout the land was fraught with unease.
The emperor had been unable to even drink water properly for days now, his breaths growing ever fainter. Everyone with any insight was tense. To anyone watching, his life was clearly at its end.
“Your Highness. Allow me to offer my congratulations in advance.”
The Third Prince, Edmund von Illumina, nodded with an expressionless face. He had just been holding his father’s hand and shedding tears, but the moment he returned to his own chambers, his face completely changed.
His tears had already dried, and a fleeting glint of joy even passed over his features. In just a little more time, he would become the emperor of the empire.
At least nominally, he would ascend to the pinnacle of the empire, theoretically holding the power of life and death over his subjects as the master of the realm. Of course, that was only because Ardein and Arsein, the legitimate sons of the empress, had been eliminated from the competition. As the son of the Third Imperial Consort, he had originally been one step removed from the struggle for the throne.
“Grand Duke. Your words are inappropriate. How could I, as a son, accept congratulations while my father lies dying?”
Edmund had clearly nodded, but the words flowing from his mouth were exceedingly smooth.
Valder Grand Duke, the younger brother of the current emperor, let out a low chuckle. As the leader of the temple faction within the empire, the grand duke was Edmund’s greatest supporter, and he very much approved of what his nephew was doing.
That rigid, inflexible former crown prince, Arsein, had been someone even difficult to approach.
He always smiled, yet never let emotions sway him, always handling matters with perfect impartiality—a thoroughly prickly individual. The temple state absolutely did not want such a man to become emperor.
So what if Edmund was cunning and greedy? To Valder Grand Duke, he was far superior to Arsein.
After all, with someone like him, it was easy to make money, secure interests, and above all, manipulate. Edmund would bow his head to the temple as much as needed, so long as his own gains were assured.
*Uncle. Do you also look down on me as the son of a concubine?*
But that was Valder Grand Duke’s personal view.
To him, Edmund seemed like an obedient dog, but on reflection, it was only natural. The prince had not yet seized the throne.
Someone like Edmund always placed strengthening his power as the top priority. Everything else came after. For now, with nothing to his name, he needed the backing of the temple faction, so he bowed his head to Valder Grand Duke every time, never forgetting to address him as “Imperial Uncle.”
*We’ll see.*
But whether he would continue to do so after ascending the throne was anyone’s guess.
A cold light flickered in Edmund’s eyes before vanishing. In any case, the day to clash with the grand duke was not today. First, he needed to claim the throne; first, he needed to command the world.
Only after drawing in the imperial family’s secret organizations and building sufficient personal loyalist forces could he grant the grand duke some suitable fief and chase him off to the countryside. By then, the temple would realize they had raised a tiger.
Whether that day would come soon, however, was doubtful.
For now, he needed that uncle and his backing. After all, he did not hold an overwhelming position in the struggle for the throne.
“It would be ideal if Your Highness could claim that seat without conflict, but where in the world does that happen? Your Highness is wise enough to know what I mean...”
“Legitimacy. That damned legitimacy is always the problem. What even is this business of being a ‘legitimate’ son?”
The Third Prince couldn’t hold back, twisting his expression. He too was a son of an imperial consort, and so were the other princes and princesses. The only children of the empress—the official wife—were Ardein and Arsein.
Even after those two were dead or fallen into a fate worse than death, the stigma of being the offspring of a concubine lingered. Valder Grand Duke cleared his throat awkwardly, as he himself had taken a concubine.
“The Fifth Prince, Arshin, is one of the greatest threats. He may not have exceptional talent, but his mother is the First Imperial Consort, and her father is none other than Count Marcus.”
Marcus Feltman Count. But he was called Count Marcus, not Feltman Count.
That was because his personal fame overshadowed his family’s. Born into a fallen house where the title meant nothing, he had revived the family through his own abilities. Before that, most people didn’t even know the Feltman family existed.
This border count, a titan of the empire’s south, was a singular figure. Amid the empire’s chaos, he had given salaries and jobs to wandering refugees, undertaking massive public works to generate profit.
He gathered vagrants, allocated settlements, and in exchange for land, had heads of households enlist as soldiers, forming a vast private army. If mobilized to the maximum, he could easily field over a hundred thousand troops—a man untouchable, at least in the current situation.
It was true he ruled the empire’s south like a king, but to the empire, he was a necessary evil. If he vanished, the Soljent Kingdom to the south—always eyeing opportunities—would pounce like a wildcat and tear into the empire’s flesh.
In chaotic times, those who held military authority held power itself. Count Marcus possessed not only military command but also personal martial prowess—a rare talent—and the southern domain’s folk might not know the emperor’s name, but they all knew his.
The empire’s vast territory meant central control didn’t reach distant regions, allowing such things to happen. Of course, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“We granted him the border countcy to defend the empire, yet he uses that power to threaten his master—like a mere guard dog. In the end, that’s all he is. He won’t rebel.”
How arduous would it be for the empire to dispatch generals directly and conscript the locals to form an army? And the financial drain?
Directly ruled territories sound good in theory, but only in theory. Entrusting local defense to locals is far more efficient—assuming, of course, that Count Marcus remains loyal to the empire and the imperial family.
“Marcus Feltman. Would that ambitious man truly plot rebellion? Even if he did, with the temple state at our backs, who would respond? The central authority still holds, and no one wants to sink the great ship that is the empire. So everyone earns their money and chases power from their positions but doesn’t cross the line.”
The prince’s confidence had basis. Once rebellion broke out, the fragile balance maintaining everything would shatter.
No one desired that. Beyond the seas, the Odal Empire pressed in; far to the west, the newly formed Mage Empire threatened and rose against them.
The southeastern elves were unreliable allies at best, neutral at worst. The southern Soljent Kingdom was already expanding by invading neighboring states, and it wouldn’t be long before it claimed the title of empire itself.
Even if a powerful contender capable of rebellion overthrew the imperial family in a reverse revolution and succeeded, nothing would remain.
Seizing the empire like that? They’d immediately have to worry about defending against Harma El with forces torn apart by civil war. That was the worst scenario everyone envisioned.
“Your Highness. But we cannot be too optimistic. Before the count’s ambitions, it’s better to prepare cautiously rather than assume ideal behavior.”
Thus, what the empire’s regional powerhouses likely sought was not destroying the empire’s facade. They probably had no intention of even replacing the imperial bloodline.
It was obvious they would keep the Illumina lineage on the throne while intervening from the shadows to manipulate the emperor. The “imperial uncle” before his eyes right now was trying to do exactly that.
Of course, that assumed everyone thought rationally. Humans were more vulnerable to desire than one might think; otherwise, death gods wouldn’t exist.
“Naturally, set that aside until after you ascend the throne.”
Valder Grand Duke trailed off slightly.
“Your Highness... Not long now until I must address you this way. Soon, Your Highness will ascend the throne. I only hope you don’t forget how you came to sit upon it—how great a price the temple state paid for you.”
Edmund’s gaze grew icy, but outwardly, he merely smiled.
He mustn’t forget. These people had conspired to assassinate the crown prince, so they could assassinate him the same way. Of course, that was easier said than done.
An emperor and a crown prince were starkly different, and a crown prince and a prince differed in stature as well. The empire harbored numerous secret units and hidden forces loyal solely to the emperor—forces that obeyed the emperor yet even he could not command at will.
They guarded the emperor but ignored his orders.
The founding emperor had prepared them precisely for such contingencies: when the emperor erred, lost the people’s hearts, emptied the treasury, and saw power slip from his grasp.
Once a monarch lost absolute power, recovery was impossible. Even the forces that should be his limbs would have been infiltrated by others.
*If I become emperor, I’ll gain absolute authority over the imperial palace’s protective magic arrays. And rights to utilize the dragon veins as well. Once all the empire’s hidden powers pledge loyalty to me, I can then negotiate with the temple state behind this uncle from an equal position.*
These forces existed for such scenarios; even in peacetime, not even the emperor had the right to command them. They activated only when the empire faced utter collapse—an arrangement like a failsafe.
One reason the crown prince Arsein had been assassinated so easily was that. The fundamental reason was that nearly everyone—from nobles to the temple—desired his death.
But it was also because the imperial family’s secret forces had drastically reduced their protection for him, no longer treating him as crown prince. They were loyal not to one emperor, but to the eternal imperial house.
No matter who the next emperor was, so long as they bore the Illumina name, they would accept and serve that emperor.
Killing a crown prince properly appointed through legitimate procedures would be treason, but killing another prince was merely part of the throne struggle.
By the founding emperor’s strict rules, these secret forces were forbidden from intervening in imperial succession struggles. Otherwise, powers preserved for the empire might be squandered in internal strife.
After all, the victor of a throne struggle was one with ability in their own right, so the founding emperor didn’t view his descendants fighting among themselves negatively. At least, it was better than an incompetent inheriting the throne.
“You should return now. You’ve been away too long.”
At Valder Grand Duke’s words, Edmund nodded. Already, his younger siblings were at the fallen emperor’s side, expending a lifetime’s worth of tears. Such acting was an essential skill for any imperial, though some overdid it.
“Father! Your Majesty! Please open your eyes! If you leave like this, I shall bash my head on the floor and follow you, Your Majesty. I shall accompany you so your path is not lonely!”
Watching the prince smash his head against the floor with thudding sounds, everyone must have inwardly grimaced. It was the Seventh Prince, Arzein. Naturally, Edmund’s inner thoughts weren’t much different.
With his father about to die any moment, who was he putting on this filial display for? With such short-sightedness, it was no wonder a prince like him didn’t even qualify for the throne struggle.
Once the emperor breathed his last, the Seventh Prince would be a kite with cut strings, sold off as a hostage to another land.
“Hm?”
Just then, Valder Grand Duke suddenly furrowed his brow.
Mindful of the location, he didn’t shout loudly, but he called out sternly.
“What’s this commotion? Why is it so noisy outside? Who dares cause a disturbance at a time like this? Whoever it is should be executed as an example!”
His shout suddenly froze. An immense pressure emanated from afar, making hairs stand on end and every body hair stiffen.
If one didn’t recognize this pressure, could they even call themselves imperial? This was unmistakably the Dragon Form Aura that all imperials cultivated by borrowing the power of the dragon veins!
*Master...?*
Even with the dragon veins’ aid, it only accelerated progress—one couldn’t reach the Master realm. But this power, this pressure, was undoubtedly a Master’s. What was happening? Had an imperial reached the Master realm?
*Wh-who is it? Which one?*
Edmund’s relaxed expression also hardened rigidly. If the source of this pressure was one of the princes or princesses, it meant an unforeseen powerful rival had emerged.
An imperial Master! What did that imply? It meant the first imperial since the founding emperor to partially inherit his legend had been born. Even without forces, legitimacy alone made them a threat.
“Out of my way! Do you lowly things intend to bar me from seeing my father?!”
Hearing the voice of the Dragon Form Aura’s owner, Edmund’s expression hardened completely.
This time, he couldn’t even maintain his facade. He staggered unwittingly, but fortunately, no one noticed his blunder. Everyone who mattered had risen in shock.
“Ar-Ardein?”
Boom! The door nearly shattered as it flew open, and a woman rushed in frantically.
Tears streamed from her eyes, but no one paid that any mind. What mattered was the vitality now brimming in flesh that had rotted away. Armata, the archbishop serving High Priestess Hila, froze mid-prayer in utter astonishment.
“F-Father...!”
But would anything catch her eye right now? The princess’s gaze flew to the central bed and her weeping mother.
The empress dabbed her tears with a cloth, sobbing, then spotted Ardein and fell back in shock onto her rear. The attending maids screamed as they supported her.
“Is it truly you...? Ardein. Have you returned? I-Is this not a dream?”
“Mother... Mother...”
“You wicked child! You wicked girl! Do you have any idea how my heart burned when I heard you’d left without a word? Do you know how much His Majesty worried about you?”
As if having eaten something good, her daughter looked even younger than before her illness, but the empress recognized her instantly. Of course she did—she had borne her from her own womb. How could she not know? She had reminisced inwardly countless times about the girl’s pre-illness appearance.
“Even a wretch like you is my daughter, it seems. It appears the gods let me see you again before I follow His Majesty in death.”
Finishing her words, the empress raised her hand and slapped her own cheek hard.
The sharp smack echoed through the room, leaving everyone speechless. The sobbing woman sniffled, placing her hand on the emperor’s chest.
“And yet... this is no dream. You... you’ve truly returned. Even cured of the illness that tormented you. I don’t know what miracle you encountered, but come here at once. Before His Majesty leaves us forever, you must show yourself at least once.”
Unable to hold back, the empress burst into tears.
“You told me so many times you wanted to see our daughter restored... So before you go, I must fulfill that wish. Your Majesty, it’s me. Please open your eyes. Our child... Ardein has returned. The sickness has left her, her skin radiant once more... Your Majesty, our daughter has come back...”
* * *